


Drop in the Bucket

by ciaconnaa



Series: Drop in the Bucket [1]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7606069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaconnaa/pseuds/ciaconnaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Judy first visits Nick’s apartment, she can’t decide if it’s more like a greenhouse or a garage sale. It isn’t until hours later when she’s alone in her dusty, barren studio looking up at a cracked ceiling does she decide that abandoned treehouse is the best identifier that she can come up with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drop in the Bucket

When Judy first visits Nick’s apartment, she can’t decide if it’s more like a greenhouse or a garage sale. It isn’t until hours later when she’s alone in her dusty, barren studio looking up at a cracked ceiling does she decide that _abandoned treehouse_ is the best identifier that she can come up with.

It’s pouring rain out and they’re both soaked to the bone. Judy had been prepared to simply run all the way to her place but then Nick explains that his apartment is six blocks closer, which means he _doesn’t_ live part time under a bridge like she has assumed for the last six months.

Imagine that.

So Judy ends up using a copy of the _Zootopia Times_ as a makeshift umbrella as she waits for Nick to unlock the surprisingly colorful door to his basement apartment.

“Your door is pink,” she tells him, half fact, half question, because Nick Wilde doesn’t seem the type to have a pink door.

She hears the door unlock before Nick uses his shoulder to pop it open and usher them inside. He spares a quick glance at said door and huffs out of his nose. “Is that pink? I thought it was red.”

“It’s reddish-pink?” Judy decides, taking a step into the threshold. Nick warns her belatedly of the steep steps down into his apartment and she nearly impales herself on what appears to be an…antique lamp?

Nick mumbles to himself as he closes the door and shakes his fur; he’s still talking to himself as he takes the initiative and yanks Judy’s jacket off her before he heads to the far side of the room and hangs up their jackets on a clothesline he has strung up by the window amongst several hanging plants.

Coming from a family where plant husbandry is _kinda a big deal,_ Judy can tell they are well looked after.

“Welcome to Casa de Nick,” he tells her, wringing out his work tie over paint-splattered concrete floors.

A fitting title considering his kitchen holds the ugliest backsplash of mismatched talavera tiles to ever exist in Zootopia and probably the world. It’s kitschy quality goes well with the chipped baby blue cabinets, half of which are missing their doors.

He catches her staring at them. “Open shelving,” he explains with a wink before he dips out of the living room and into his closet of a bedroom. “I’m going to see if I can find some dry clothes for you to wear.”

She doesn’t respond, too enthralled with Nick’s apartment. The floors are cold and hard with a long jagged line through the middle: foundation problems, maybe. His walls are white but it’s hard to tell due to the collection of old neon signs, fallen street signs, and rusted license plates plastered on his wall like wallpaper.

“Make yourself at home!” Nick calls from his bedroom. “I gotta—” There’s a muffled thump and Nick’s labored breath “—go through some boxes. Beer’s in the fridge—if there’s any left.”

Judy sidesteps over various radio parts, computer keyboards, and for some reason, half a dozen more antique lamps to get to the kitchen. Up close, the talavera tiles are even more blinding. She blinks, trying to see if the patterns are imprinted on her brain, before she opens the fridge to find three yogurt cups, two soda cans, and not a single beer. When she picks one of the yogurt cups up to check the use by date, she realizes that it’s slightly iced.

“Nope, no beer,” she calls back, shutting the fridge. Judy looks up at his _open shelving_ and notices there’s a box of tea. It sounds way more inviting than alcohol anyway, especially considering her own fur is still cold and _wet._ “I’m making tea!”

Nick shouts, “Put honey in mine, _honey,”_ a tease that’s wasted as Judy discovers that only two of his four stove burners actually _work._ She takes a few moments to admire the vintage mint-green enameled kettle before she fills it up with water and sets it on the stove to boil.

There’s another thump, but Judy ignores it in lieu of going through a humungous stack of paperback books that he has on the other side of the kitchen counters. There doesn’t seem to be any real sense of organization to it (if there is, it’s completely organic) but Judy does find that Nick’s tastes in literature spreads far and wide. He’s a fan of the classics, of fantasy, of romance. There’s only one stack of books that aren’t paperback and their weight is used as a table leg for one of Nick’s _two_ dining room sets.

This baffles her.

“Why do you have two dining tables?” Judy calls as she hears yet another _thump,_ followed by a muffled curse.

“Uhhh,” Nick grunts from his room. “One of them was just mine, the other one I got from my favorite diner down the block. It closed five years ago. Owner said if I could lug it away, it was mine.”

Judy doesn’t know _how_ he lugged it away, even with Finnick and his van. It’s not just a table, it’s an entire restaurant _booth_ complete with worn red vinyl benches. The table itself has seen better days; one corner has a carving of a tree. She wonders if it was there when Nick picked it up.

She plucks one of the hardback books from Nick’s makeshift table leg with a mental promise to return it before she goes to sit in the restaurant booth set against the window. The vinyl squeaks as she settles in and flips through the book: it’s an art book, nothing but famous paintings by Pablo Picatso

It’s hard to see in the dim light of Nick’s apartment as she flips through the pictures, and even harder to concentrate with the pitter patter of rain on the window. She looks out to see it’s practically coming in sideways, and she hopes that Nick’s faulty foundation won’t have her wading through a foot of water at any moment. When the kettle on the stove whistles, she gives up on reading and looking altogether, slips the book back in its pile, and finishes making the tea.

She has a surprisingly large collection of mugs to choose from. Nick has maybe four plates, a few spoons, forks and knives, and two bowls, but he has _fifteen_ mugs. And each of them is as crazy and ugly as the rest of his kitchen. Judy ends up selecting a floral one for her and the _Foxy Grandpa_ one for Nick.

“Hot tea, coming your way,” she announces, balancing two hot mugs in her paws that remind her of her part-time waitressing days back in Bunnyburrow when she was seventeen. “Don’t be naked.”

“Wouldn’t you like that!” Nick laughs, but he’s completely clothed in his wet uniform and s _till_ rummaging through boxes when she stands in the threshold of his bedroom. “Sorry, I thought---I _swear_ I have—aha! Yes! I found it,” he declares, reaching to the bottom of a cardboard box labeled _kitchenware_ and pulling out a small dress about the same color as Nick’s cabinets. “It’s Amy Flannery.”

Judy pulls a face. She knows next to nothing about fashion and designer brands. Grabbing the garment, she checks for the tag; there is none. “Who is Amy Flannery?”

“Only Finnick’s best alias.” Nick grins. “He looked _adorable.”_

She tried to imagine Finnick dressed in drag; somehow it seems more far-fetched than having him dress up as an elephant pretending to be a baby. Then a thought strikes her. “What was _your_ best alias?”

Nick sighs and looks off in the distance, looking nostalgic. “Natalie Redd.”

“ _Really.”_

“I was one hot vixen, carrots.” He pauses, looking at the boxes. “I’m sure I can dig out _my_ dress if you want me to—“

“No.” Judy interrupts, perhaps a little too loudly. She takes a sip of tea and immediately regrets it—it burns her tongue. “Please spare me,” she coughs, pulling yet another distasteful face.

“Another night, then,” he teases, and she groans. “Bathroom’s around the corner, if you want to change in there.”

She kinda does, if only to snoop through his bathroom. Going through Nick’s apartment is like being part of some zoological research project. She takes another scalding sip of her tea before she trudges back through Nick’s living room, leaves the mug on the counter, and then walks into what has got to be the ugliest bathroom in all of existence.

The tiles are pink. And not that pastel grandma pink that looks okay in dingy motels and the like. The tiles are _magenta_ and line the bathroom from floor to ceiling with the exception of the tub, toilet and sink: all of which are _green._ The only thing that looks like it’s from this decade is the cheap metal vanity next to his sink, which happens to hold a _record player._

And he had the audacity to make fun of Mr. Big for using CDs.

“Sweet baked potatoes,” Judy mumbles under her breath, wondering if one can get a migraine from looking at something so ugly. She closes her eyes and changes into the comfy, shapeless dress. Taking her wet clothes, she opens her eyes again and pulls back Nick’s shower curtain so as to hang them to dry. The tub is squeaky clean and she notices that he uses the exact same soap as she does. It’s right on the edge of the tub, next to the _bubble bath._

“Coconut Jasmine?” she calls out, picking up the bubble bath to see what kind it is.

He picks up on her underlying questions gone unsaid. “I smelled it on you and thought it smelled good, so I tried it,” he calls back.

She’s only mildly surprised. “You don’t think it’s too girly?”

“Nah,” he says, his voice closer. He appears in the bathroom threshold. “The soap they make for men smells like musk or… cinnamon for whatever reason.” He shrugs. “It’s too strong.” An owlish blink. “Did you want to take a bath?”

“A bath?”

He points to the bubble bath. “Eucalyptus is a very good stress reliever. And considering how your foot never really stomps thumping, maybe you could use it.”

Judy rolls her eyes. “No, _thank you.”_ she snorts. “Though maybe a shower would have been nice.”

“Can’t,” Nick says, his mouth suddenly full of fruit shaped gummies. “Showerhead doesn’t work.”

“Since when?”

“Since I moved in,” he says. A gummy falls out of his mouth. He picks it up and tosses it in the bathroom waste basket. “Want me to get you a towel?”

“No, I’m fine,” Judy says, and finishes hanging her uniform; the shower head is suddenly hard to ignore, calling to her like a challenge. “I could fix your showerhead.”

Nick waves her offer away with a limp paw. “Another night. Maybe when I tell you about Natalie Redd.” He chuckles, looking thoughtful. “Though Finnick always tells that story best….”

Judy stands up and tugs on the dress, trying to make it fit as best she can. “Drunk or sober?”

His grin is mischievous. “Who tells a good story _sober?”_

That makes her laugh. “Well count me in,” she tells him, leaving the horrid clash of pink and green behind to make it back to the storage locker that Nick calls a living room. “The two of you drunk, that’s something I gotta see.”

Judy grabs her tea before she settles on one of two couches that Nick has—both are equally worn but comfy. She hears the bathroom pipes rumble and the tub starts spitting out water with impressive water pressure before Nick joins her on the couch, his arm touching her arm. He offers her some of the gummies he had been munching on. She catches what’s on the packaging and grins.

“These are for _children,”_ she smiles, but she takes them anyway.

“They’re for the children at _heart,_ fluff. If you’re gonna make fun, than you can’t have any.” And he pulls the bag away.

She stretches to reach for more, and he doesn’t protest. “Sounds like something a child would say.”

He grins and hands her the rest of the gummies, but not before shoving a loving handful in his mouth. “Well, if you’re going to insult me, I’m going to leave.” He hops off the couch, leaving his spot somewhat damp, takes a detour to the kitchen, grabs the two cans of soda cans in the fridge and heads back into his bathroom. “Feel free to continue to snoop around.”

Judy blushes as the bathroom door shuts. “I wasn’t snooping!” she shouts after him, glancing at his makeshift coffee table, which is nothing but a clothing chest covered in concert stickers from bands she’s never heard of. “And you didn’t finish your tea!”

“You’re a real bad liar, Hopps!” He laughs. “And there wasn’t any honey, _honey.”_

“You didn’t have any honey, _honey.”_

“Then what good is green tea?” There’s a screeching of the record player and then Earth, Wind & Fur’s _Let’s Groove_ echoes through his apartment.

Typical.

Alone and with full permission to snoop, Judy finally sits back on Nick’s couch and takes a look, a really good look, at the rest of his apartment and finishes her tea. The pipes rattle as the tub in the bath fills and her eyes drifts to the corner by the door where she finds a big orange construction bucket collecting tiny, steady drops of water that fall with a soft plop; whether it’s from Nick’s pipes or roof, Judy doesn’t know, but she does know that he won’t fix it either way.

She stuffs the last of the gummies in her mouth and balls the trash in her paws, aiming for the trash can next to the kitchen counter; it misses. As she gets up, she trips over a small radio and almost impales herself on what might be the same lamp.

Try as she might, Judy can’t quite figure out why Nick has all these radio parts. The laptops, maybe, but no one really uses radios—at least not old ones like these. She looks around for a super radio or some sort of hybrid electronic, but she doesn’t see one—Nick doesn’t even own a TV; though his desktop computer on his desk is rather impressive, donned with several sticky notes and the like.  Her expression contorts into one of befuddlement, and she finds her foot starts to thump on the floors as her detective neurons start firing. Her paws find a place on her hips and she scans the room trying to find the last piece of the Nick Wilde Puzzle that might make his mish-mash collection of _stuff_ make sense.

She ends up taking the largest of the antique lamps (they all have _bulbs_ which means he must _use them)_ and plugs it into the outlet. The darkening room lights up, casting odd shadows here and there, but the atmosphere is still warm. She plugs in two more using a surge protector she finds in the kitchen and despite the age old symbolism of light leading to epiphany, Judy still feels lost.

With Earth, Wind & Fur playing in the background, Judy finds herself on the cold floor sifting through the stack of art books once more, and boy, does he have quite a collection: Jackal Pollock, Vincent Van Goat, Wassily Kandingo, and tons more that Judy can’t recognize by name. Some of the books are new from recent museum exhibitions and others are second hand textbooks from the university with worn edges and water damage. Regardless, Nick’s art collection is odd, at least not without a purpose.

Lifting her head, she tries to spot an easel, paints, _crayons._ Nothing comes to eye. Aside from the fallen street signs decorating the walls, Nick doesn’t have single picture, photograph, or painting in his entire apartment.

Next, she snoops through his desk. His computer takes up most of the work space—it’s an industrial thing, in her opinion—something that tech has down at the station. There are a few books on the small shelf above the desk: two books on how to code, and three books on astronomy. Tucking her ears down, she dips her head underneath the desk and sees what looks like to be a disassembled telescope on the floor.

There aren’t any pencils, paper, or brushes in his desk, nor any canvases behind it. Her nose twitches and her gaze snaps to the only room she hasn’t really looked at—Nick’s bedroom.

Compared to his living space, Nick’s bedroom is barren. All he has is a mattress with a fitted sheet (no blankets) that sits directly on the floor, a small nightstand with another antique lamp, an easel (but no paints or canvases in sight), and no dresser. Judy cannot believe that Nick has _two dining tables and two couches,_ but he puts all his clothes in old moving boxes because he doesn’t own a _dresser._

Nick’s room does, however, hold the only framed picture in the entire apartment.

And by Peter Cottontail, is it quite the picture.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters before she takes a trying breath and barks out a curt, _“Nick!”_

_“What?”_ He calls back, his voice muffled over the music. The pipes have long quieted and he’s been soaking in the bath for a good few minutes. So Judy marches over to the bathroom door, covers her eyes with one paw, and then barges in.

She realizes that her classic reprimanding stare has little effect if her partner can’t see her eyes. It’s a price she’s willing to pay in order to keep a Naked Nick out of her repertoire of unneeded mental images. “Nick,” she repeats.

“Carrots,” she hears him say with feigned shock, “Barging in like this…seems like you wanted to see a naked fox after all.”

She pouts, putting her free hand on her hip. “Why do you have that poster on your wall?”

“What poster?”

“Don’t play coy with me. _That_ poster. The same picture on Finnick’s van?”

Nick chuckles and Judy hears the water swish around in the tub as he moves. “It’s a classic. _Pretty Vixen_ is a work of art. Natalie Redd is a _doll.”_

Judy fumes. “That’s where you got that name from?”

She hears a loud slurping, which confuses her. “Hell yeah,” he tells her with a smack of his lips. “She’s an inspiration with the sexual wiles of a Bond Girl.”

“Are you saying you wanted to be a Bond Girl?” She hears the slurping again. “ _What_ is that noise?”

“Take your paw off your eyes and find out.”

“Not a chance.”

He laughs again. “The bubbles will protect your country-girl innocence. Ranger Scout’s Honor.”

With a little whine and a prayer that Nick isn’t yanking her tail, Judy reluctantly removes her paw from her face to find that, yes, Nick is practically drowning in bubbles. But even if he wasn’t, the contraption on his head is something that can’t be ignored.

“What is that?” Judy asks.

It’s a hard red plastic hat with two soda cans strapped to each side and a long straw wrapped around to his mouth. He takes a long, loud slurp. “Haven’t you ever seen a beer hat?”

“No,” Judy admits. She sits on the lid of the toilet and chooses to stare at the record player on his vanity. “Too busy making moonshine in the bathtub.”

She glances his way just in time to see his face light up with amusement. “Hah!” he laughs. “Think we can make some here?”

Judy lets the joke end there with a wry smile. And if the beer hat isn’t enough, he’s also holding a book. “What are you reading?” she nods to his paws.

“A book.”

She tilts her head, reading the colorful lettering on the front of the thin cover. “…Spiderpig?”

“A _comic_ book.”

She grins. “You’re such a kid.” But then she remembers the poster in his room and thinks _not._ “Why do you have the poster?”

Nick shrugs and snuggles deeper into the tub, closing his eyes. “I collect things. Semi-pornographic posters just happens to be one of those things.

While it isn’t really an answer, Judy can’t think of any real reason to have it in the first place, other than novelty’s sake. She lets it go, for now. “So all that stuff out there? It’s just….collections?”

“Well, no,” Nick sighs. His eyes open and he looks up at the ceiling. “A lot of it is from old gigs that didn’t work out.”

“Like the books?”

“Yeah, like the books.”

“So you haven’t actually _read_ any of them.”

“Oh, no, I read ‘em.”

“How many have you read?”

“All of them.”

“ _…all of them!?”_

Nick isn’t fazed; he goes back to reading his comic book. “I’m a fast reader.”

Judy tilts her head, blinking, before drawing her legs up on the seat lid. “What about the art books?”

“Studying. Taught myself how to paint. Gotta learn from the greats.”

“What for?”

He doesn’t answer, only stares at her with a sly expression as he sips on his soda from his beer hat. And since she isn’t fond of his smugness, Judy lunges forward and snags the hat right off his head to put on her own.

“I’ll find out eventually,” she says, adjusting the hat. She has to keep her ears down and hold the rim to keep it from falling over her eyes, but she makes it work. The soda is almost gone as she takes a sip from the straw.

Nick smiles at her before he looks back at his comic book. “Can you flip it?”

“Flip what?”

“The _record.”_

And just then, the record fades out and they are sitting in silence. Judy rolls her eyes as Nick shoots her a smug look. She jumps off the toilet seat and starts to flip the record over when she notices the three other records he has behind them; she plucks the first one in the stack: Frank Shrewnatra.

Nick doesn’t notice her switching out the records, but he doesn’t miss a beat when the music starts playing. She in stitches with laughter when he belts out the words; _“And noooow, the end is near. And so I face, the final curtain…”_

And as silly as Nick’s theatrical performance is, there’s also something entrancing about it. Once Judy’s giggles die down she finds herself sitting on the toilet lid once more, a dopey look on her face, her chin in her paw. Nick is belting it out without a care, his eyes closed and his paws splashing bubbles around. By the time the song ends, there’s a light thumping from the neighbors upstairs, wanting him to shut up.

“You have a nice singing voice,” Judy tells him.

“Better than yours.”

“Isn’t everyone’s.”

Nick grins. “True enough.” He adjusts his position in the tub again and leans back, holding up his comic book. “Now, I’d say you only have a few more minutes before the bubble’s censorship expires.”

Judy jumps up, paws up in surrender; the beer hat falls down and covers her eyes. “Say no more. I’m leaving.”

“I mean, you’re _more_ than welcome to stay, if you want—“

“Say _no more,”_ Judy emphasizes, opening the bathroom door. She doesn’t dare turn around to look at his face. He loves getting her all riled up. “I’ll be out here.”

“Can you bring me some gummies?”

“I ate them all.”

“You _fiend!”_ She hears him cry just as she shuts the door behind her.

As Nick finishes up his bath, Judy finds herself in Nick’s makeshift solarium to check out all of his plants. He has all kinds: ferns, ivy, herbs. But not many flowers—Judy makes a mental note to bring him some flowers next time she stops by.

By the time Nick comes out of the bathroom, it’s stopped raining. He’s got on a pair of flannel pajama as he starts rubbing behind his ears with a towel. “You staying here tonight?”

Judy blinks and then checks her watch: it’s 9:30, and she hasn’t eaten dinner yet. “We gonna shack up together on your floor mattress?”

Nick grins. “You brought it up, not me.”

She rolls her eyes, but smiles, a softer compliment to his toothy one. “Thanks, but I think I’ll head home. It’s stopped raining.”

Taking the damp towel, he hangs it over the top of the open bathroom door. “Suit yourself,” he shrugs. “Need an umbrella?”

“Do you have one?”

“I….have another newspaper?”

She shakes her head with exasperation before she taps the beer hat. “I think this would work better.”

“Oh, man,” Nick chuckles as he walks over to her; he hits the rim of the hat and it falls over her eyes again. “I’m never getting this thing back, am I?”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he laughs.

“Alright, keep it. Take my stuff, why don’t you!” He bellows teasingly.

“Because you have like, _no stuff_ ,” she shoots back, gesturing to the chaos that is his apartment. “I can barely see the floor, Nick.”

“I retract my hospitality offer—get out.”

Judy throws her head back and laughs. “Fine, fine, I’m leaving.”

“Do you want your uniform?” Nick says, already wandering back to the bathroom. “I hung it in the towel rack in here…”

She’s heading for the door, a reply ready when she catches the wall right by the front door, the wall with the bucket, and the words die on her tongue.

“I think I have a plastic bag that you can put it in…?” Nick’s talking to himself as he starts rummaging through his apartment, oblivious to how Judy is inching towards the door jamb, how her paw runs along the jagged lines carved in the wood and the lines and letters made out of marker marring the wall, how she realizes that there aren’t any photos, no pictures of his family, but he has this, _this is here,_ and it’s been here all along….

There are two colored lines that line the door frame: red and purple, all stacked on top of each other. By the purple letters, there’s a letter _L_ and by the red ones, the letter _N._

Judy recognizes what this is. Her mom used to do this with her littermates when they fought over which one of them was the tallest…

N is for Nicholas.

“Okay, it’s not the best but it will have to do,” Nick tells her as he comes out of his room, a slightly ripped Z-Mart plastic bag with her clothes in his hand. Judy jerks away from the door and pretends she hasn’t noticed the markings—he doesn’t seem to think anything is up.

“Thanks,” she tells him giving him a smile. The water continues to drip into the bucket. “I guess I’ll be off.”

Nick opens the door for her and her ears pick up on the drops of rain that keep falling from the trees around Nick’s apartment. He leans against the door as he watches her walk up the walkway back to the main street. “Are you really going to wear that all the way to your place?”

“Yeah, why not?” She calls back.

He laughs, shaking his head. “See you tomorrow, Judy.”

“Bye, Nick!”

He closes the door and Judy definitely decides that it’s pink.

 

* * *

 

The next time she visits his apartment, she brings him violets for his plant collection, more gummies to replace the ones she ate, and an ad for a dresser on sale at Z-Mart.

And the time after _that_ , he measures her against the door frame, marking it with a teal marker and a fancy _J._

(But he makes her keep her ears down because apparently that’s _cheating_  otherwise)

**Author's Note:**

> A look into Nick Wilde's life! I wanted to describe Nick's apartment, but don't have anyone to talk to about it so...I wrote a fic!


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